Objectives. William Ball

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Objectives

Objectives

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THE GOLDEN KEY

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In the empty space before us there is a chair. Let us say the chair is an ordinary household chair-straight backed, wooden, and green. Now, in our imaginations we place someone in the chair. This is the beginning of acting. The someone we place in the chair will be the character that we wish to portray. We can visualize him sitting there. We can sense him. We can smell him. We can hear his movements-for the purpose of this ex­ ercise, I'm going to use "he" or "his." Suffice it to say, the per­ son in the chair could be a male or female. The actor's purpose is, first, to observe the model in the chair and then to go sit inside the skin of the person in the chair. Before the actor goes and sits in the chair, he must observe the person in the chair with methodic scrutiny. When the charac­ ter in the chair has been observed completely, the actor as­ sumes the skin, contour, and personality of the character in the chair, as if stepping into the model's space, or sliding into an invisible envelope. Let us look for a few moments at this character sitting before us. What is there about him that interests us? What could move us to imitate him? Let us list those aspects that fascinate us:

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his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his

appearance movements smell nationality habits memories laugh failures dreams daydreams nervous gestures smile mannerisms health loneliness age fears weaknesses biography needs experiences wants clothing income birth sign perceptions name profession

his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his his

hobbies social status politics accomplishments attitude toward death family friends religion passions intellect education language voice posture weight strengths diet goals energy level likes and dislikes sexuality eccentricities sense of humor temper pride or lack of it morality self-confidence love

We could add more; when the list was complete, we would have a fair and accurate picture of his character. His name is Leslie. There he sits, gazing and breathing si­ lently and motionlessly in the green chair before us; sitting there in his own clothing, in his own posture, in his own complexion, in his own thought, and in his own history. I am the actor. I stand before Leslie observing him. He the

71

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

model, I the artist. I am to become him. I am to think his thoughts, share his feelings, speak his words. How shall I be­ come him? He awes me. In some ways he and I are alike. But in most of the patterns of his life-his expressions, his rhythms, his looks, his wants, his background, his ways of going about things-he is very different from me. Yet to succeed I must be­ lieve myself to be him. His goals must become my goals. His appearance must become mine. His words must rise from my heart and soul, and I must experience his pain. My model slips a hand into his pocket as he turns his head slowly to look at me. How shall I become him? Where shall I begin? What path shall I use by which to enter his being? What shall I give my attention to first? Shall I study the entire his­ tory of his life? Shall I scrutinize his anatomy, his health, his diet, his grooming habits, his weight, his movements? Shall I begin by reconstructing his thought, his education, his self­ discipline, his ethics, his I. Q., his confidence, his social posi­ tion, his job, or his personal habits? I am beginning to sense that I could observe my model for years before I would be truly able to enter and become him, before I would be able to take on the heart of his unique and wonderful mystery. I sense the need for a technique, a shortcut, a device for entering him quickly, accurately, effortlessly. I need a golden key. Let's look at Leslie again for a minute. Is he a happy man? Has he succeeded in everything he pursued? Is he in pain? Is he alone? Is he uncertain? Does he suffer? Does he think well of himself? Does he fear us? What part of himself does he seek to hide from scrutiny? See how he shifts his weight in the chair now that he knows we are looking at him. He raises one hand, presses his nostrils together lightly, looks at his shoe, curls his fingers, and places his fist behind his lower back. There's no part of Leslie that is not going to be known to me. In time, I, as actor, am going to enter into Leslie. His life will be mine. I am going to borrow, for a prolonged period of time, his thoughts, his fears, his loves, and his desires. I am going to borrow -the hair that grows out of his nostrils. I am going to

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Objectives

borrow his central nervous system. I am going to borrow the story of his experience. I am going to borrow his mentality, his awareness, his pleasure. I am going to borrow his sense of hu­ mor. I'm going to borrow his rhythms. I'm going to borrow the pair of shoes he is wearing. But where shall I begin? Where is my golden key? I return to the model. I study the model. I will give Leslie no rest until I have observed him completely. I will not rest until I have scanned and memorized everything about him. I will watch my model night and day. He will never be out of my presence. He will yield to me all his secrets. I will walk around him for hours. I will pester him with questions. I will be exacting in detail. This is the first step in the acting process. I study the model: Leslie, where did you get that coat? What is in your pockets? Where did the smudge on your collar come from? Do you have callouses, freckles, corns? Do you have any scars? Have you ever had an operation? Ether'? Flowers afterwards? From whom? When do you feel most lonely, Leslie? Whom do you love? Leslie! What are you thinking at this moment? Who is your favorite playmate? What foods give you heartburn? Can you keep a secret? Do you owe anyone money? What makes you laugh? Do you complain? Do you pray? Do you masturbate? What do you feel most lost without? Do you drink? Do you daydream? Do you worry? What, Leslie, is your absolutely most favorite thing in the world? What do you do in secret that no one is aware of? Tell me. How did your spinal column get the way it is? What is your strongest childhood memory? What is your pet peeve? What pain do you have in your body right now? Is there anything or anyone you hate? Is there a supreme being for you? Whom do you imitate?

As the actor, I study the model. I move around him steadily. Gradually, systematically, relentlessly, courageously I per­ suade him to yield up his truth to me; his heart, his being. Only when I know him thoroughly can I become him. Only when I share his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams will I be permitted to go and sit in the green chair in his place; only when I love him will he allow me to slide into his skin. The actor studies

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Objectives

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

his appearance his loves his fears his frustrations his nationality his personal relations his emotions his thoughts his habits his memories his sense of humor his childhood his daydreams his mannerisms his needs his hopes his physical health his age his biography his wardrobe his birth sign his self-esteem his social status his profession his name his hobbies his politics

the model. This is the first step. But where is the golden key? When the golden key is mine, then I will go to him, sit in his place, and become him. Then I will place my feet where his feet are. I will place my knees where his knees are, and my hands where his hands are. I will assume his carriage, his gait, his glance. I will take upon myself his mentality, his pain, his memory, his loneliness. I will take his voice. I will like what he likes. I will laugh at what amuses him. What he finds sexy will turn me on. What he has achieved will make me proud, and what he resents will make me indignant. His convictions will be my principles. I will consent to take onto myself all his life. When I agree to take on his life, I may be taking on a lot of weight, a lot of sorrow, a lot of suffering, a lot of resentment, a lot of fear, a lot of loneliness-all strange to my usual nature. I may take on ugliness, despair, bigotry, uncertainty, ill-fortune. But when I enter him I will include all, and I will dare to ac­ cept the entirety of his being. I will become Leslie. The enormity of the task seems to be awesome. We have asked so many questions and received so many impressions. The sheer number of facets of Leslie's life and experience cause us to seek a simple, sure, and effortless method of becoming the charac­ ter. We do not want to spend countless and unsystematic hours asking random questions and patching our haphazard impres­ sions together in the hope that some accident will ignite a co­ herent and truthful performance. We need the golden key. We need a technique that will bring the multiplicity of impressions into alignment and unity. Thanks to the methods articulated by our master, Constantin Stanislavski, we have a golden key. His study is a revelation to every serious actor. Every skilled professional actor will be able to spot the golden key immediately in the following list of character traits. The golden key will leap out and light up as the one valuable tool for the actor; the other characteristics in the list will recede into the shadowy recess of secondary consideration. Can you spot the single golden key to which the actor should anchor his full attention from among the many we have discussed?

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his religion his use of language his anger his uncertainty his wants his inner rage his ethics his love his loneliness his pride his eccentricities his uniqueness his education his awareness his strengths his weaknesses his energy his mentality his rhythms his sexuality his expressions his habits his pain his mystery his pleasures his central nervous system his worries

Did your eyes go right to the golden key? It may be cor­ rectly said that the actor is interested in every characteristic on the above list. But there is one particular word that is the tool, the lever, the power, the passion, the exercise, the obsession, the quest, the revelation, the liberator, and the joy of the gen­ uine and knowledgeable actor. It is the golden key that frees all other creative energies. It is the golden key that unlocks and opens the gate, freeing my direct, clear, and easy path into the inner life of Leslie; so that I become him thoroughly, opu­

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I

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Objectives

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

lently, fearlessly, effortlessly. This technique is the key to all success in acting. This golden key is the sine qua non--or "without which nothing"--of the art of theatre. The profes­ sional actor could spot the golden key on that list from a mile away. The amateur is still puzzled. There is one and only one "open sesame" to creative acting. There is one and only one way to enter and know and experience and express the inner life of a character in a play. And that technique is the system­ atic and thorough pursuit of the wants of the character. How simple it seems! How prosaic. How obvious. His wants. But the overwhelming majority of rehearsals are mired in con­ fusion, frustration, and non-success, because the artists fix their attention on the secondary paraphernalia of results. Wants. Wants. Wants. Wants are what create drama. Wants are what give life to the character. Wants are what the waking individual is never without. Wants are perpetual. Wants cause action. Wants create conflict. Wants are the very energy of hu­ man life and the System of Wants is the aspect of character to which the actor gives his relentless and obsessive attention. The actor tracks down the wants. Everything else is classified as a condition. The golden key is the character's system of wants. And after I have studied and structured and tested and as­ sumed Leslie's system of wants, then, and only then, am I per­ mitted to occupy his inner life and express his personality. Of all the questions I ask Leslie about himself, the overwhelming majority have to do with his wants: "What do you want?" "What do you want now?" "What is your ultimate want?" "What do you want from the other person?" "What do you want in the play?" "What do you want in life?" When I succeed in making Leslie's wants my wants, I succeed in the process of acting. The want is the golden key. A SYSTEM OF WANTS I will want what Leslie wants. It is essential at this point to divide wants into two classifi­ cations and to throw one of the classifications away.

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Leslie may want a motorboat, a wife, a moment's peace and quiet. These are nouns. In another category, Leslie may want to earn enough money to buy a motorboat; he may want to win Georgia's heart, to eliminate the distractions to his peace of mind. To earn, to win, to eliminate. These verbs are the wants. We narrow the focus of the actor's pursuit now by stating clearly that, for our purposes in theatre, Leslie never wants nouns. His wants are expressed as verbs. When asked what Leslie wants, a skilled actor will never an­ swer that Leslie wants an object, or a person, or a job, or love, or independence. A skilled actor always states Leslie's wants in the form of a verb. What does Leslie want to do? I WANT TO

(verb)

The behavior of an individual is caused by what he wants. What does Leslie want to do? What does he want to do for, or to, himself, and what does he want to do for, or to, other peo­ ple? A serious actor doesn't give time or attention to any other aspect of the character until he has made a thorough study of what the character wants to do. Leslie is always wanting to do something. If he is awake he wants to do something to himself, to others, or to his surroundings. The one thing that is perpet­ ual and constant in Leslie's consciousness is that he is always wanting. There is never a moment when a human being is not wanting to do something. Leslie may want to make himself more comfortable in his chair; he may want to convince me of his dis­ interest; he may want to get out of the room; he may want to fall asleep. He may want to figure out why I am gazing at him with such interest; but Leslie is always wanting to do some­ thing. He has many characteristics, but the one thing that he always has-if he is alive-is that he wants to do something. His entire life has been composed of a system of wants. As an actor I say, "The only thing that interests me is what Leslie wants. I will study what he wants; when I know what he wants I will borrow his wants and make them my own. His wants

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A SENSE OF DIRECTION

Objectives

will become my wants; and when I want completely what he wants, I will have entered the inner life of Leslie. Everything I do will flow from his nature." The system of wants in Leslie is what the actor gives his ab­ solute, continuous, and undivided attention to. The actor is like a detective hunting down those wants. We have already narrowed our focus to eliminate nouns: NOUN

I I I I I I I I I I I I

VERB

I want a motorboat. I want a wife. I want peace. I want attention. I want order.

I want to EARN enough for a motorboat: I want to WIN Georgia's heart. I want to ELIMINATE distraction. I want to FASCINATE everyone. I want to ORGANIZE this mess.

Now let us narrow further and eliminate adjectives: ADJECTIVE

I am angry with her. I am nervous. I am frustrated. I am in love. I am being charming. I am confused. I am giddy. I am drunk. I am friendly. I am arrogant.

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Listed below are a number of frequently recurring "actable" verbs:

VERB

I want to DESTROY her. I want to FOCUS my attention. I want to FIND a way out. I want to TAKE CARE of her forever. I want to DAZZLE the guests. I want to FIGURE OUT a solution. I want to CONTAIN my rapture. I want to PRESERVE business as usual. I want to WIN him over. I want to BELITTLE him.

want want want want want want want want want want want want

to CONVINCE. to ENCOURAGE. to PREPARE. to ENLIGHTEN. to ANNIHILATE. to GET EVEN. to OVERWHELM. to. REASSURE to BOMBARD. to SUPPRESS. to BELITTLE. to LAMBAST.

I I I I I I I I I I I I

want want want want want want want want want want want want

to to to to to to to to to to to to

HELP. SEDUCE. IGNITE. BUILD. HURT. AWAKEN. MOCK. CRUSH INSPIRE. DESTROY. INCITE. TEASE.

Having narrowed the focus of wants to the choice of specific verbs, let us take the first of two steps in refinement. An ade­ quate expression of the want is a verb by itself. A superior, more subtle, and certainly more actable expression of the want will include the person to whom the want is directed and the re­ sponse sought from that person, so that a first-class actor ex­ pressing an individual want of the character would include all three elements:

I I I I I

want .. want.. want .. want .. want ..

VERB

RECEIVER

DESIRED RESPONSE

to to to to to

Gloria's..... my father's .. my lover the crowd Ann

admiration. enthusiasm. to tears. to riot. to kiss me.

WIN . . . . . . . .. AWAKEN .. .. REDUCE IGNITE PERSUADE ..

This is the most sophisticated and effective expression of Leslie's wants because it includes the other person's response. This three-part mechanism requires Leslie to be dependent on the other character's response. The other character's slightest response will tell Leslie whether he is getting closer to the ful­ 79

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

rector does nothing more than continuously ask the actor for his objective, he will have a successful production. If he fails to ask the actor repeatedly what his objective is, there is the greatest likelihood that his production will fail. Despite the fact that an actor is fervid, and despite the fact that acting is his life, most actors tend to resist acting. Al­ though he deeply longs to be swimming in the water, the actor approaches the shore with great reluctance. A director is there to encourage him to go into the water. When an actor is acting well, he has taken on some degree of suffering. In lending his belief to the character, he consents to go through the passions of the character. Since no one really desires to suffer, there is a part of the actor that wants not to experience the deep and painful feelings of the character. Another part of the actor wants those experiences but would prefer to delay the real experi­ ence as long as possible. The actor tends to postpone making choices that would cause him pain. The actor does not want to pin himself down to experiencing the suffering of the character. He would rather indicate these passions for a while rather than go fully into them, because he knows that when he finally con­ sents to go into them it will cause him some pain. He knows it is going to hurt him. To some extent it hurts to be "in" the character. "As long as I can stay outside the character, at least I am not suffering," he mutters subconsciously, "so I'll sketch in the feelings for a while in order to avoid going fully into a deep personal belief in those feelings." Now, this is a resistance that is natural for almost all actors. The actor deeply wants to play the part, but he is reluctant to get into it. He would rather "indicate" the passions than feel them. The director's job-and here it is in a nutshell-is to persuade the actor away from giving the "representation" of the experience. The director persuades the actor to participate in the experience. To put it another way, the director coaxes the actor away from giving a demonstration of the passion and per­ suades the actor to go into the inner life of the character and actually experience the passion. Every actor is slightly reluctant to make this transition. Some

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Objectives

actors have never learned to make the transition. They are very poor actors. They spend their entire careers indicating the feel­ ings rather than experiencing them. They are phony. They never actually experience the feelings of the character, whereas the entire art of acting is based on the performer's ability to sustain the experience of the inner life of the character. So the director is there to persuade the actor away from the representation of the feeling and into the experience of the feeling itself. To do this the director uses one technique, and he uses it all the time. It saves a great deal of energy and con­ fusion. Rather than lengthy discussions on the merits of each scene, and rather than delivering long directorial expostula­ tions on the character, the skilled director simply asks one question relentlessly: "What is your objective?" At first the ac­ tor will not know. He will try to offer an adjective. And so the question "What objective are you playing?" is re­ peated, and the director will only accept a verb as an answer. Pin the actor down; he probably doesn't want to be pinned down. There is safety in vagueness. There is comfort in "indicating." There is painlessness in remaining uncommitted. Actors tend to run like pigs in a barnyard to avoid pinning down the objec­ tives. Frequently they will throw up a barrage of adjectives: "Well, you see his anger here, the pent up fury, the resent­ ment from the past; he's really bitter, he's gotten cynical, he's sour; he's rejected, disillusioned, full of contempt, and it all erupts in a torrent of rage and recriminations and revenge . . ." And on and on he goes, flinging colorful adjectives and nouns about like confetti. This kind of waffling should be stopped. After the second sentence, the director should gently step in and say, "Those are adjectives. Please give me a verb." Once again the actor experiences a sense of resistance. He suddenly realizes that he is about to commit to experiencing the character's want and in the company of that want will come some discomfort, some suffering. "I think he probably wants to annihilate his wife." Immediately the actor has committed himself to experience a very painful desire. The director says, "Thank you for that verb; 'annihilate' is a very playable objective."

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Objectives

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

Gradually, the actor abandons this avoidance technique of hiding behind decorative emotional descriptions. Adjectives and nouns are of no use and must be avoided during the rehearsal. The skillful director limits what he says. He systematically draws the actors toward the right verb and encourages them to give their full personal commitment to that verb. This is the busi­ ness of directing.

experience and avoiding a personal commitment to the want of the character." To put it another way: "You are indicating a feeling rather than playing your objective." There is a value in the actor knowing which phrase a director customarily uses. But it is even more helpful for the actor to be aware that when he hears any of the phrases on the above list, they all mean, "You do not have an objective. Find one and play it."

INDICATING Not all verbs are actable. But before proceeding to a discussion about refining the choice of verbs, let us once again give our attention to some terminology. Here is a list of words that directors commonly use when they are criticizing an actor's work: you you you you you you you you you you you you you you you

are are are are are are are are are are are are are are are

GENERALIZING

TELEGRAPHING

INDICATING

PLAYING ATTITUDE

PLAYING the ADJECTIVE

PLAYING RESULT

MODE PLAYING

BEING SCENIC

DIRECTING YOURSELF

ANTICIPATING

ILLUSTRATING

DEMONSTRATING

MUGGING

BEING PHONY

UNBELIEVABLE

Each director has his favorite phrase, but all the above phrases mean exactly the same thing. Once again, we see how much simpler our profession would be if we were to establish a uni­ form vocabulary for our techniques. These phrases all carry the same message from the director to the actor. The message is this: "You are allowing yourself to represent a picture of the

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FINDING ACTABLE VERBS Once we have persuaded the actor to respond with a verb when asked for his objective we have opened the door to creative act­ ing. Now we have two refinements that will increase the effec­ tiveness of these verbs. The first of these refinements might be called the preference for actable verbs. The second we shall re­ fer to as upgrading the verbs. Are all verbs equally actable? No. An actor will offer a wide variety of choices, but the director should be prepared to ac­ cept only the verbs that an ordinary person could get behind with his shoulder and push hard for at least ten minutes. This immediately eliminates the following classification of verbs. Intellectual verbs These usually come in packages of three syllables or more. They are lofty or elegant. No ordinary hu­ man being ever spent two seconds, much less ten minutes, pursuing them. Cogitate, for example, is the intellectual form for a more ordinary activity: figure out. No one can put his shoulder behind the frail verb reciprocate, but anyone could push hard on get even. Behavior or Condition verbs These verbs describe a state of being or an action that does not require a strong commit­ ment of intent. They are usually reflexive or subconscious ac­ tivities that can be accomplished without effort-sleep, laugh, sneeze, cry, eat, wait, or stand usually require no hard push­ ing.

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A SENSE OF DIRECTION

Existential verbs These verbs include those vast activities that go on without our volition. They are too vague to be en­ deavored in. For instance, one can hardly push hard for ten minutes on the verbs to be, to exist, to die, to become, to live, to use, to try, or to think. Adjectival verbs This classification is extremely subjective, and one director will consider a certain verb in this category to be dangerous, while another will consider it acceptable. The determining factor is this: Does the choice of the verb sound dangerously close to indicating-Dr playing the adjective? For instance we might discourage the use of a verb such as argue, because it slides so unnoticeably into the adjectival playing of argumentative; charm because it slides into being charming; pity leads to pitiful; imagine leads to imaginative; deceive leads to deceptive, and so forth. Trigger verbs These verbs depict actions that occur so quickly the doer could not pursue them for ten minutes: shoot, slap, kick, kiss, touch, quit.

VERBS ACTABLE

INTELLECTUAL

BEHAVIORAL or CONDITIONAL

hurt inspire suppress incite enlighten crush encourage lambast explain organize destroy prepare

build

ensnare

tease

cheer up

reassure

justify

mock

reciprocate atone glean repudiate reign blame mollify avenge vilify obfuscate ruminate reinstate postulate avow require accomplish adjust narrate impugn

walk sneeze cry laugh shout run eat sleep sit stand fear like endure hiccough belch wait record see recover

ADJECTIVAL

TRIGGER

Actable verbs These verbs, it is worth repeating, are com­ monplace, gutsy activities that an ordinary person could put his EXISTENTIAL shoulder behind and push hard for ten minutes. One can cer­ think

tainly work hard for a long time to convince, excite, tease, en­ use

courage, destroy, prove, entice, intimidate. try

The following rough chart could be augmented and refined be

by any student of directing. It provides a graphic way of look­ live

ing at actable verbs. Gradually the director becomes selective exist

in listening to the actor; so that, for example, when the director die

asks, "What is your objective?" and the actor answers, "I want become

to castigate him," the director will suggest, "Give me the down­ create

and-dirty form of 'castigate.' " The actor might say, "bawl him do

out"; "give him hell"; "curse him out." The director: "That's need

better, those are more actable. You can't put your shoulder intend

behind 'castigate'; it disappears. But you can really push hard hope

on 'give him hell!' Use the down-and-dirty form; it's more love

actable. " happen

begin

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create aggravate discuss argue forgive charm pity deceive pine deplore adore enchant marvel loathe grieve judge

slap kill shoot kick touch kiss quit slice tweak wince lock notice omit meet flash snap

Objectives

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

It becomes apparent that nearly seven-eighths of the verbs in spoken English are of absolutely no use to the actor. So we have, once again, narrowed the field of choices, enabling the director to focus his attention on a small list of very refined verbs that he will find himself using over and over again. It may seem astonishing to the novice, but frequently an experienced direc­ tor comes to the sudden realization that play after play he is using the same small group of verbs. The actable verbs turn out to be a mere handful of words used over and over again, by character after character. The conditions that surround these actable verbs vary widely, and these different conditions give definition and color to the drama.

Now, how would it be if, instead of telling or infonning him of the procedures of the house, you were to overwhelm him with the procedures, or even bombard him with the procedures? The upgraded verb may seem outsized at first, but we remember that it is inevitably modified by the conditions or given circum­ stances of the scene and will therefore not appear to the audi­ ence as an exaggerated choice. The hefty size of an upgraded objective-its definiteness, its ability to be used like a club­ will seem attractive to the actor. It gives him something tough and clear to grasp--something powerful, something to which he can easily lend full commitment. Let us look at some other examples of the verb being up­ graded.

UPGRADING THE CHOICE In the early rehearsals, the actor is tentative and his choice of a verb may be weak, frail, thin. His choice may be a verb, but one that is not strong enough to throw one's shoulder behind. Particularly in the first scenes of a play, in which the play­ wright is wrestling with the artfulness of his exposition, the ac­ tor comes up with a shrug: ''1' m merely telling him about the procedures around here." The director asks, "What would hap­ pen if we were to upgrade that objective?" For example, the actor gives us TELL, and the director suggests that it may be upgraded as follows: TELL

INFORM

RELAY

DOCUMENT

EXPLAIN

PROVE

CONVINCE

OVERWHELM

BOMBARD

DEVASTATE

ANNIHILATE

OBLITERATE

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o

CHARM her FASCINATE her DAZZLE her WIN her MANIPULATE her SEDUCE her SURROUND her OVERWHELM her DOMINATE her VICTIMIZE her CONQUER her TYRANNIZE her POSSESS her OCCUpy her

COMPLIMENT him FLATTER him PRAISE him REINFORCE him ENCOURAGE him STRENGTHEN him FORTIFY him INVIGORATE him ELEVATE him EXALT him IMMORTALIZE him LIONIZE him MONARCHIZE him DEIFY him

Some observations should be made at this point: An actor may be "stuck" with a weak objective. When the director invites him to upgrade it, he does not force the situa­ tion. He suggests the possible options. He encourages the ac­ tor to broaden his thinking, to consider splashier possibilities, thus adding color and fervor to the beat. The audience never sees the actor's choice. For example, suppose the actress is to say to her lover, "What a wonderful, kind, thoughtful person you are!" The audience will hear only

89

1;·'

Objectives

A SENSE OF DIRECTION

those words. But the degree of her conviction will be revealed by the actress's secret choice: whether to flatter him, to fortify him, to exalt him, or to immortalize hI';. Actors love poetic words and even words they may not un­ derstand. It could be quite meaningful to suggest to the actress who is praising her lover that she oil him, smother him, con­ sume him, or arouse him. But the actress might respond to lionize him, because of its connotative rather than its exact ex­ plicit meaning. Even though she doesn't understand the mean­ ing of the word, her imagination is captured by it, and she hap­ pily envisions her lover becoming a rampant lion as she speaks of him. When we use this technique of upgrading the verb, we sometimes lose track, temporarily, of the second and third components of a well-constructed objective-that is, the re­ ceiver and the response. After the verb has been upgraded, we merely add them in; so that the progression goes this way: I want to FLAITER him.

becomes

I want to PRAISE him.

becomes

I want to STRENGTHEN him.

becomes

I want to GLORIFY him.

becomes, with the receiver and the response included,

I want to GLORIFY him into realizing his true worth.

All this discussion of actable verbs and upgrading of choices pales by comparison when we come to consider two immensely pow­ erful verbs-the giant crowbars of acting technique-get and

make. THE CROWBARS: GET AND MAKE No matter how much homework a director may do, it is impos­ sible for him to know in advance all the objectives of all the characters in a play. If he did he would be straining badly and

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would also be obviating the purpose of rehearsal. But what if the director gets stuck? What if he doesn't have a clue to what the next scene is about? What if he is required to work rapidly with a script with which he is unfamiliar? What if he is tired, angry, or disinterested and can hardly bring himself to the quest, much less savor the subtle differences of choice? Fortunately, we have a rescue tactic. It is an all-purpose, shortcut, surefire, knockdown, bring-'em-back-alive, fail-safe, self-cleaning, inexhaustible magic trick, which, no matter how crudely employed, will always work. It is the crowbar of di­ recting and will always produce satisfactory results in bringing the actor close to the choice of the right objective. This powerfullever is the interchangeable use of the giant verbs get and

make.

) !

Either of the following questions will always get the director out of trouble: "What are you trying to GET him to do?" ~. "What are you trying to MAKE him do?" Some directors, desperate to cover for lack of preparation, manage to get through the entire rehearsal period on these two sentences alone. In fact there are some directors who, unable to be bothered with refinements, have built an entire career on these two handy sentences. "What are you trying to GET from him?" "What are you trying to MAKE him give you?" These two questions require an answer from the actor, and the answer has built into it the three components needed for the most effective statement of an objective. The answer must­

1. Contain a verb: "I am trying to CONVINCE." 2. Contain a receiver: "I am trying to convince HIM." 3. Contain a desired response: "I am trying to convince him TO GO WITH ME." "What are you trying to by beat, scene after scene. the beginning, middle, and extras; to verse and prose;

get him to do?" may be asked beat It will never wear out. It applies to end of a play; to lead characters and to old and young; to rich and poor;

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A SENSE OF DIRECTION

to active and passive; to real and imagined; to morning, noon, and night. ' When there is any uncertainty about how things are ~oing in any scene, the director merely inserts the crowbar: "What are you trying to MAKE her do?" ''I'm trying to MAKE her relax, MAKE her cheer up, MAKE her smile at me." Presto. Both actor and director have something to go OIl. The scene has been pried loose and is actable now. The objective may be changed, modified, refined, or upgraded later, but, at least for now, we have­

1. a verb 2. a receiver 3. a desired response

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